The Innocent Mage (55 page)

Soon enough, Barl’s Wall would come down.

Some time later, after a second round of bathing and dressing, and fortified with his new plan, he ventured outside to find the king and queen. Thanks to Durm he knew every twist and turn of the palace, every face that passed him. This place was as familiar to him as the contours of his own mind.

Their Majesties — Majesties! — were in the palace solar, lingering over breakfast. A pleasant room, with birds and flowers and spilling sunshine. Pink and cream and gold. Pretty colours. Pretty furnishings, too, plump and fringed and tasselled and sparkling in the warm light. How soft they were, in this place, in the delusions of their safety.

‘Durm!’ the king said. ‘Come. Sit.’ There was something vaguely familiar about him. Chances were he was descended directly from Ryal Torvig; the nose was the same, the mouth, and a trick of the eye. Ryal, who’d promised loyalty and delivered betrayal. Ryal, who’d died screaming amidst his own entrails. But it would seem his whore had survived after all, to breed on. A pity.

‘Have you eaten?’ asked the queen.

‘Thank you, yes.’ He sat. ‘Forgive the interruption but I needed to speak with you. I have been thinking.’

The king plucked a hothouse strawberry from its bowl. Plump and ripely red, it looked delicious. ‘About?’

‘Barl.’ He felt his emptied stomach spasm. The bitch, the slut, the treacherous whore. ‘And her library.’

‘Durm?’ the queen asked, teacup paused at her lips. ‘Are you all right?’

On a deep breath he relaxed. Unclenched his fingers. ‘Of course. A touch of indigestion.’

The king favoured him with a wicked grin. ‘Shall I call for Nix? He has so many potions …”

Durm would smile at that, so he curved his lips. ‘That |won’t be necessary. But I am touched by the thought.’

‘I thought you might be.’ The king bit into another succulent strawberry: pink juice dribbled down his chin land the queen, laughing, dabbed him clean with her I napkin. ‘So, you’ve been thinking about the library. I And?’

‘And I fear that yesterday I allowed my zeal to override I my better judgement,’ he continued, and assumed a suitably | apologetic expression. ‘Your better judgement.’

‘How so?’

‘Blessed Barl in her infinite wisdom hid that chamber, I and those books, for reasons we cannot fathom. I fear we were wrong to ignore that wisdom.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ said the king after a lengthy I silence. ‘What’s brought about this abrupt change of heart?’ ‘ ‘The thought that we may yet discover treatises of ancient Doranen magic’

Exchanging glances with the queen, the king leaned forward. The hothouse strawberries were forgotten now. ‘I thought you wanted to find them.’

‘I did. In truth, part of me still does. But the danger of doing so far outweighs the benefits. If such magics were discovered … if they were to fall into the wrong hands … the Wall itself may be destroyed, Borne, and that is unthinkable.’ For them, at least. For himself, he’d been dreaming, plotting and planning little else for centuries.

The king frowned. ‘Whose “wrong hands” concern you the most?’

‘My own,’ said Morg. Seasoning Durm’s voice with a rueful, courageous honesty, he continued, ‘I’m afraid that if I found such magics, if I discovered a book with our arcane heritage writ large upon its pages, I would not resist the temptation to use it. I fear that my zeal and, regrettably, my arrogance —’

‘Arrogance?’ the king protested. ‘Durm, what —’

‘Please, old friend!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Can you truly sit there and smile in my eye and say I am not arrogant? I am, and we both know it. And / know that my arrogance would indeed overrun my more temperate self, and that in so doing I would bring about calamity and woe.’

‘This is arrant nonsense!’ the king retorted. ‘You would never, never —’

He lifted a hand to halt the passionate spate of words. ‘It is an unwise man, Majesty, who claims “never”. I think you told me that once.’

The king’s pale face was flushed with temper. ‘I grant you’re a passionate man, Durm. Confident in your abilities, as well you should be, because they’re prodigious. But you would never, and yes I use the word, not unwisely, never betray me or my kingdom. And if you think I’m going to sit here and listen to you malign yourself in such a fashion, you —’

‘Borne,’ said the queen, and laid a gentle finger on his wrist. ‘Let him finish.’

Which was interesting. Little ranting Durm knew the queen did not like him overmuch but kept her peace for the sake of her husband. For himself, he found her reservations amusing, springing as they did from her unreasoning love of that mewling monstrosity she called a son and a suspicion that Durm had no real respect for her at all.

And there, little magician, do we find ourselves in agreement, and nobody is more surprised than I to discover we share a toehold of common ground! This queen is no queen at all; your king is blinded by love. And not just for her. For the cripple, too. But let’s not be too harsh towards our little princeling, eh? He is, after all, the tool of your destruction and is to be cherished. At least for now.

The king said, subsiding, ‘He can talk until crows grow on corn stalks, Dana. It still won’t make him right.’

‘Do you say he doesn’t know his own heart?’ she countered. ‘Why then have you called for his counsel all these years if you so easily mistrust what he says?’

There was a dangerous glitter in the king’s eye. It made him look more than ever like long-dead Ryal. ‘I think you’d best speak plainly, madam.’

‘Plainly, then, you should stop bellowing and hear him out,’ the queen snapped. ‘Yesterday you were the one saying the library should remain unbreached. Now Durm is agreeing with you, a little late perhaps, but still. Tell me what tVvete vs vcv tVvvs to TMslfeV

‘I mislike,’ the king said dangerously, ‘that he would sit there and accuse himself of foul, unspeakable treachery. Even more do I mislike the fact that you don’t defend him, even from himself!’

How tedious. As if he had time for wedded spats. ‘Dear friends,’ he raised both hands placatingly. ‘Please do not disagree on my account. Your loyalty moves me almost to tears, Borne, but in this the queen has the right of it. Allow me to know myself and my personal demons a little better than you.’

‘You are no traitor,’ said the king. ‘My life upon it. I cannot believe you would ever put your own desires above the welfare of this kingdom. I will not believe it, even if Barl herself should come back from the grave to tell me in person.’

‘Well, I expect you’re right,’ said Morg, as deep within the darkness trapped Durm wept, inconsolable. ‘But can you understand I prefer not to put that belief to the test?’

‘Yes,’ the queen said. ‘Of course we can understand. We do understand. The library will be sealed and the secret of its existence will die with us.’

Well, that much was certainly true. He turned to the king. ‘Borne?’

‘I confess,’ the king said slowly, ‘that I spent an uneasy night. I had bad dreams. Not because I mistrust you. Every argument you made yesterday holds true in the light of a new morning. And yet …’

‘Precisely,’ he said, smiling. ‘In the harsh light of day, doubts outweigh daring. Countless thousands of lives depend on us. You were right all along, Borne. The risk is too great.’

‘So be it.’ The king grimaced. ‘Fane will be desolate.’

Ah yes. The magical prodigy. He was looking forward to meeting her: Durm considered her quite amazing. ‘I will deal with Fane,’ he said. ‘As WeatherWorker-in-Waiting, she will understand that we act with the kingdom’s best interests at heart.’

‘And what of Gar?’ said the queen. ‘Borne, he’ll be devastated. All those books. You said he could study them, you named him —’

‘I know,’ said the king. ‘It can’t be helped.’

‘A compromise, perhaps,’ Morg suggested. ‘It’s clear that what we found yesterday is harmless. His Highness could safely take those books and translate them to his heart’s content. If it’s made known that those texts comprised the extent of the discovery, all should be well.’

‘An excellent idea,’ approved the queen.

The king nodded. ‘I agree. And it would be a shame to come away from this empty-handed.’ Sighing, he frowned at the bowl of strawberries.

Finally succumbing to temptation Morg reached for one, though his purged belly was still uneasy. The flavour exploded on his tongue, sweet, so sweet. He almost moaned aloud. When he could speak: ‘Might I make another suggestion?’

‘Of course,’ said the king.

‘Let me be the one to tell the prince of this decision. It will distress him, and since I’m the one responsible for it, it’s only fair that I bear the brunt of his displeasure.’

‘Like Fane, he will understand,’ the queen said sharply. ‘Gar is no fool.’

A matter for debate, surely. But he smiled at the queen, and spread his hands wide. ‘That was not my meaning, Majesty. Forgive me if I was unclear.’

‘Doubtless it’s cowardly of me but — very well,’ said the king. ‘By all means, break the bad news to Gar.’

‘Excellent,’ said Morg, and smiled. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Majesty, I’ll do so directly. When a plan is decided there seems little point in delay. Don’t you agree?’

‘Certainly,’ said Borne. And smiled. And flicked his fingers in fond, unsuspecting farewell.

The fool.

He found the cripple in the Tower’s foyer, conversing with Nix. No fool, the pother excused himself and withdrew. Since protocol dictated that Durm bow to the prince, Morg lowered his chin, briefly. ‘Good morning. Your Highness. I hope your health remains robust?’

‘Certainly,’ replied the cripple. He looked wary. ‘Nix was here to see Asher.’

Ah yes. The Olken hero. Morg smothered a sneer; it was important he gained the weakling’s trust. ‘Still not recovered, then? I’m sorry to hear it. The kingdom owes him a great debt.’

The cripple’s wariness eased. ‘Indeed. And when he’s on his feet again — Barl grant it be soon, now — the debt shall be paid. Durm, what brings you here? Is something wrong?’

He smiled. ‘Not… precisely. Shall we walk?’

To his and Durm’s surprise, the cripple took the news well. ‘I’m sorry, of course,’ he said as he was circumspectly guided towards the Old Palace. ‘Sorrier than you’ll ever know. But I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it. A discovery like this — it’s too dangerous. His Majesty is absolutely correct in his decision. I consider myself fortunate to be left with any books at all.’

‘Which is why I have brought you back here now,’ said Morg, halting before the door that would lead them,

eventually, to his bitch lover’s long-hidden chamber. ‘I thought perhaps you and I might take a few moments to look over one or two more shelves. See if there’s not something particularly splendid for you to add to your collection.’

‘Are you sure? Does His Majesty know that —’

‘His Majesty trusts me, Your Highness,’ said Morg. ‘And so should you. You used to, once upon a time.’

‘Once upon a time,’ the cripple replied, ‘you thought I was my father’s son and that together we’d work great magics.’ Then he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Of course I trust you, Durm.’

In silence, they continued to the library.

‘It’s such a pity,’ the cripple sighed, wandering among the bookshelves, touching their spines with foolish, doting fingers. ‘Who knows what grand histories of old Dorana are hidden here? What fabulous tales of those glorious long-dead days I’ll never get to read. I’m going to spend the rest of my life wondering. Mourning, really.’

Morg swung the chamber door shut with a nod. ‘No, you won’t. Eunuch.’

The cripple stopped. Stared. ‘I’m sorry … what did you just call me?’

‘Eunuch,’ he repeated politely. ‘It means “impotent one”. A man bereft of the means by which to perform. Agreed, there is a slight contextual difference, but the spirit of the word still applies. Magically speaking, little princeling, you are limp.’

The look on the cripple’s face was worth quite a lot of the aggravation his treacherous slut was causing him. ‘I think you must be unwell,’ the prince said with great care. ‘I suggest you see Pother Nix immediately, and I’ll forget this ever happened.’

‘Well … you’re half right.’ With a casual flick of his fingers he froze the witless natterer where he stood. ‘Grand histories of old Dorana. You cretin,’ he sneered, and felt contempt twist his borrowed face. ‘There is nothing grand about those long-dead days! The dynastic squabbling, the interhouse rivalries, the needless shedding of blood. Politics for its own sake. No thought for the purity of our people, no consideration for the future. All they cared about was power for personal aggrandisement. The greatness of our race, the fulfilment of our destiny, meant nothing to them. Nothing*. They were fools, your ancestors, every last one of them, and Barl the most foolish of all. Did she think I would stand idly by and watch our race tear itself to pieces like a pack of rabid dogs? She said she loved me. How could she love me, yet know me so little?’

The cripple did not answer. Empty of thought, of feeling, a blank sheet of parchment waiting patiently for the pen, it stood tranquilly before him.

‘And you,’ he went on, bile and spite scalding. ‘You think you’re safe here? You think it couldn’t happen to you? Are you deaf, then, to the growls in the throat of that dog on the Privy Council? You think Jarralt and the rest of his relatives are without ambition? That they don’t nurse dreams of crowns and palaces and the crackling fire of Weather Magic? Hah! Of course they do … thanks to you. You blotted the family copybook, boy. You’re the crack in your father’s armour. The lever by which Conroyd Jarralt would tilt your world on its axis if he could. Tilt and tilt and tilt until it tumbled, and the sky rained fire on all your pretty heads. You think Trevoyle’s Schism was bad? Little eunuch, it pales in comparison with the bloodshed I’ve seen. I stood on top of the tallest tower in all of old Dorana and watched your forebears melt the flesh from each other’s bones. Boil brothers’ eyes in their cracking sockets. They turned their mansions into charnel-houses and their children into charcoal. That is your grand Doranen history. Your glorious past. Your grim future. It’s a good thing I’m here, little crippled princeling. I’ve come to save you from yourselves.’